


earned it

by bibliotaphist



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angor and Draal have a weird thing going on and no one really gets it, Bondage, M/M, PTSD, least of all them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 08:54:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18797071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliotaphist/pseuds/bibliotaphist
Summary: Dropping down onto one knee, Angor’s claws ghosted up one of Draal’s spines, testing the sharp point with a fingertip. Under him, Draal huffed softly, and Angor quirked a brow. His touch teasingly soft, he stroked down the spine, tracing his claws round the base. Draal’s whole body jerked, a soft gasp breaking free from his clenched teeth. Angor chuckled.“Interesting.”





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm real fond of Angor and/or Draal live aus, so there's gonna be a lot of that from me. This is post Eternal Night attempt, so Jim and co. have left to search for a new Heartstone. Draal remains in Arcadia, as well as Angor. They reach a peculiar sort of friends with benefits thing. 
> 
> This is mostly a shallow excuse to have them bang. i just really needed it.

Most of what Draal remembered of his possession was overlaid by a dark mist, fine but hazy, obscuring the details. Part of him was relieved for it. At least he couldn’t recall the sounds of Jim’s horrified cries when they’d struggled.

All he could remember clearly was a voice that was not his own, words that floated through his mind without ever seeming to stick. They spoke of blood and death and conquest, horror and darkness. He knew now it was Gunmar, or whatever part of Gunmar that had been planted inside him by The Black’s cruel magics. 

Coming to in Merlin’s tomb was the first thing he recalled clearly. Drenched by the waterfall and carrying his own chains, he’d collapsed within the mouth of the cave, feeling like he’d been beaten apart. Gunmar was there, and the undead assassin, both peering up at the inscription over the mouth of the tomb. 

No magicks here may enter. Merlin’s tomb had granted Draal his freedom, if only for a moment.

This time, the rage that blinded him was his own. He’d recklessly hurled himself at Gunmar, roars echoing off the stone walls.

“You took my mind!” Draal howled, all fury and bitterness and shame. He grappled with Gunmar, digging his feet into the earth. “I will not be enslaved again!” 

But his strength was fast waning, even through the inferno of his anger. Gunmar was old, but a true veteran, and Draal was exhausted and weak. 

Huge horns caught Draal under the arms, lifting him off his feet and flinging him on his back. Before Draal could roll away, huge hands wrapped in a crushing grip around his throat. Over and over Gunmar lifted him just to slam him against the floor again, the impact leaving his ears ringing. 

Dizzily, over Gunmar’s shoulder, he’d caught a glimpse of the assassin. The devil leaned against the wall calmly, arms crossed and smirking. A final brutal slam of his head against the stone floor knocked him senseless, and he lay still. 

Over him, he could hear Gunmar’s voice even through the fog in his head, and the sinister clink of chains slithering over stone. “You are a dog, and this is your leash.” Draal turned his face away, bracing for the impact. 

It never came. Over the roar of the waterfall, he’d heard the assassin’s voice. “Stop! He could be useful to us.” The chains clinked again as Gunmar lowered them. “We don’t know what lies up ahead.” 

Gunmar snarled, and Draal heard him fling the chain to the ground. “Chain him up!” A foot slammed into the middle of his chest, punching the air out of him. Gunmar’s single eye swam in his vision as he gasped. Draal had smelled the foul tang of his breath as the beast rasped out, “You won’t make it out of this cave alive.” 

The foot lifted and Draal could pull in air again. Gunmar’s rumbling footsteps moved past him, into the mouth of the tomb. Stunned, he tried to force his body back into motion, but the clink of chain had distracted him. 

A clawed hand took him by his good wrist, twisting it up, though not as harshly as he’d expected. The heavy chain had drawn tight around him, snaking up both arms, pulling taut. The assassin growled, and tugged on the end of the lead. 

“On your feet.” Rolling onto his side, Draal pushed himself up on his elbow. Rot took hold of one of his spikes and pulled him up the rest of the way. Draal growled low in his throat, and the hand retreated. 

As Angor Rot had led him down into the yawning cavern, Draal silently plotted his rebellion, eyes dancing to and fro. 

Not make it out alive? All that meant was he had nothing left to lose.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 1 has the nasty, but is not the end. i have another unfinished chapter yet to post that hopefully i'll finish one day.

Draal heaved against the strong, deceptively slender chains spanning the breadth of his chest, curling up his arms like serpents. One cheek was pressed against the cool cement floor. Every sensation seemed somehow magnified, apprehension and eagerness mixing in his belly, sending sharp tingles up from every point of contact on his skin. His arms were bound behind his back, and he flexed, finding the chains as unyielding as he expected. 

The basement was totally silent, apart from his rapid breaths. For a moment, he almost thought he was abandoned, and Angor had left him to gloat over his cruel joke. The thought was unexpectedly disturbing, and his breath rasped sharply in his throat. 

Then, a step. Angor was letting himself be heard for Draal’s benefit, he knew. Rot wouldn’t give himself away if he didn’t want to. The soft steps approached him, and Draal tried in vain to twist his head, to catch a glimpse of Angor. A heavy hand suddenly laying on his horn made him twitch in surprise. Grunting, he shook his head to toss it off. 

“Behave.” Angor’s voice stilled him, and he felt the hand drag down his horn to settle on the base of his skull, at the apex of his antlers. Draal sighed despite himself. The hand pulled away, and Draal heard Angor swing a foot over him, so he stood straddling Draal’s prone form. 

Dropping down onto one knee, Angor’s claws ghosted up one of Draal’s spines, testing the sharp point with a fingertip. Under him, Draal huffed softly, and Angor quirked a brow. His touch teasingly soft, he stroked down the spine, tracing his claws round the base. Draal’s whole body jerked, a soft gasp breaking free from his clenched teeth. Angor chuckled. 

“Interesting.” 

Draal scraped his cheek against the ground in frustration. Angor’s fingers swirled expertly through the maze of spikes, his claws testing the flesh between them. Fighting back a whimper, Draal arched his back, trying to push in to the touch. Immediately the fingers withdrew, and Draal growled in earnest. 

A hand seized his horn and pulled sharply. Draal grunted with surprise as his head was lifted off the floor, neck arching uncomfortably. “I said, behave.” Angor didn’t sound angry, but there was a dangerous edge to his voice that had Draal panting. He dropped Draal back onto the ground without ceremony, and Draal chuckled shakily.

“I’m at your mercy, and all you want to do is tickle me? I had higher hopes for you, assassin.” It was Angor’s turn to growl. The fingers returned, this time dragging hard against the tender stone, and Draal felt his spine turn to putty. 

“I will do as I please,” Angor hissed into his ear. A hot tongue dragged up the back of Draal’s neck, and he fought the urge to flinch. “That was the agreement, was it not?” 

Draal fell silent, and Angor pulled back, tilting his head in consideration. “Since you’re so eager,” he said thoughtfully, his voice deadly soft. “Perhaps we should skip the foreplay?” His claws turned from teasing to dangerously sharp, dragging down Draal’s naked sides to settle at his hips. Draal stilled suddenly, his back a stiff line of tension. 

Angor observed him coolly, resting his palms on the broad hips. “Is that a no?” For a long moment, Draal didn’t move. Then, sighing heavily, he let himself go slack. 

“Good boy.” Angor crooned mockingly. 

The broad body under him shuddered in response, and Angor paused. Regarding Draal’s back thoughtfully, the corner of his mouth twitched in the beginning of a cunning smile. 

Draal lay heavily on his stomach, his chin resting on the ground, heart pounding so hard he was sure Angor could feel it through the floor. He felt Rot’s gaze like a weight, and he cursed himself silently. At feeling a cool palm press against the small of his back, he almost flinched. The hand moved slowly, soothingly, in long strokes up and down the exposed stone of his back. It felt… good. Very good. Draal’s foot scraped on the cement floor, but if it was to get away or push back into it he wasn’t sure. 

Angor’s voice poured hot and sweet into his ear. “That’s it. Just like that, very good…” Draal’s chest constricted, and he keened softly into the floor. Shame crawled up his belly, and he rubbed his face against the smooth concrete for lack of anything else to move.

Angor drew back, perching on his knees behind Draal. With startling strength, he took Draal by the hips and flipped him over onto his back, where he reclined with a stunned expression and pupils blown wide. Defensively his knees drew up, poised to push himself backwards, but Angor took a firm hold of the chain spanning his thick chest. 

“Much better.” Murmured Angor, tongue swiping over his teeth. He leaned up over Draal’s body, into his face, claws tapping on his chest. His voice was wicked when he breathed into Draal’s ear; “I want to see your eyes when I take you.” 

Draal let out an involuntary groan that seemed to fill the room with heat. The glow of the furnace lit up Angor’s body from behind as Draal gawked. The assassins single eye glowed like an ember, the devilish gleam lighting up the sharp curve of his cheek and the even sharper smile. 

The backs of those wicked fingers trailed softly down his cheek, to his jaw, and Angor tilted Draal’s chin up, giving him no choice but to look him in the eye. Draal fought to keep himself from trembling. 

For a long moment Angor merely looked at him, his expression unreadable, mouth set in a firm line. His head drifted closer, and Draal thought he was going to press their foreheads together, but Angor rerouted at the last moment and dragged his nose down the thick column of Draal’s throat, huffing hot air onto sensitive stone, breathing him in. Uncertainty tickled the back of Draal’s mind, his brow crinkling in confusion, straining to watch Angor as he drifted slowly down his body. 

Glancing up, Angor caught Draal watching him, his pretty eyes round and bright. Something caught in his chest and it startled him into clenching his fingers, claws digging into the soft belly under them. Draal actually whimpered aloud at that, and it was all Angor could do not to rut into him like an animal. Heat sprang to life in his belly, vicious and hungry. Holding Draal’s gaze, he sunk his teeth into the thick meat of his stomach. 

The resulting howl echoed off the walls, reverberating in Angor’s ears. He felt the vibrations of it in his jaws, and he had to check himself before biting down harder. Reluctantly, he let go, focusing in on Draal’s face. Eyes hazy and unfocused, Draal looked back, mouth open and panting like a dog. Angor grinned wickedly. 

Licking the bite, Angor dragged his open mouth down Draal’s body, pausing tantalizingly over his groin before drifting lower, sharp teeth tracing heavily on the tender inner thigh. Draal was struggling now, pulling against the chains as he writhed, trying to shove himself against Angor’s face. Growling, Angor planted a hand on his belly and leaned over him. “Be still.” He grit out, sliding a hand under one knee and lifting, using Draal’s bulk against him. 

He needn’t have bothered, because as soon as he spoke Draal fell still, pupils blown and chest heaving. The young troll stared up at him with naked want, achingly vulnerable, and Angor’s breath hitched. 

Draal knew he’d already lost the fight with himself as his breath shot out in harsh huffs, the stirring of his body under Angor’s touch unmistakable. The teasing was quickly becoming unbearable, every touch feeling like a snap of fire on his overwrought nerves. And the way Angor looked at him-!

The hand on his belly was a heavy, welcome weight, and Draal rumbled appreciatively when Angor’s hand dipped under his knee, pulling it up and resting it on his hip. 

Draal was open and exposed, spread out under the sorcerer, bound to his whims. Even as apprehension lingered in the pit of his stomach, he rolled his hips wantonly against Angor’s thigh. The look on the assassin’s face was priceless, mouth slack and single eye wide. 

Angor shook himself from his stupor, all thought to further teasing gone. His sharp fingers skittered under Draal’s loincloth, shoving the leathers aside as he shuffled onto his stomach between Draal’s legs. There. 

“Look at you.” Angor breathed against the cock resting heavily on Draal’s belly. At the stirring of his breath, it twitched, and Angor heard Draal whimper vaguely somewhere above him. The curve of his thumb and palm circled the base, the scent of it heady and musky. A thrill shot up his spine, and he took a predatory pleasure at the way Draal quivered under his hand. 

With aching slowness, Angor drew his tongue from base to tip. Draal actually shouted at that, one leg giving a spasmodic kick. Angor backed off, murmured soothing nothings into the crease of his hip, barely aware of the sickly sweet words dripping off his tongue. Draal’s shuddering had barely calmed before he sank his mouth onto him with one long swallow. 

Draal’s back arched, mouth open and hands clawing uselessly at the ground. The slick, taut heat of Angor’s throat worked him, taking him without an ounce of difficulty. “Ngh-!” Draal made a high, tight noise, legs falling open. Angor pulled off only to drag his hot tongue up the sensitive underside, and Draal’s head fell back bonelessly onto the floor. 

Suddenly, the chains spanning his shoulders were grabbed harshly. With impossible strength, Angor dragged Draal up till he was sitting nearly upright. He hung limply against his bonds, not trusting his spine to hold him. “Look at me!” Angor’s voice was tight and brittle, throat raw with lust. 

Obediently, Draal opened his eyes. Angor was crouched between his legs, hand circled tight around the base of his cock. His eye was bright, mouth set into a fierce grimace. “You will look at me. Don’t close your eyes.” Not dropping Draal’s gaze, he lowered his mouth again to the head of his cock. Draal made a desperate noise, face screwing with pleasure. A sharp tug on the chains shook him back to himself. “Eyes open.” Angor ground out, an edge of desperation to his voice. 

That merciless mouth worked him, the sensation all the greater for the watching. Draal trembled freely under talented hands and tongue as they dragged broken sounds out of him. Angor drove him heedlessly on, drunk on the sight and sound and taste of his submission. 

Draal’s noises were delicious. Angor felt the tremors under his palms, the helpless, pitchy breaths and cracked moans. It ignited a hunger in him that he hadn’t felt in centuries. The weight of Draal’s cock on his tongue, the feel of him sliding down his throat. It was… intoxicating. The cock in his mouth jumped, and Draal’s breathy noises were reaching a fever pitch. Angor heard his voice, raw with need; “Ngh, c-close don’t stop, don’t-” 

The noise of Angor’s mouth when it popped off Draal’s cock was audible. Draal snarled in protest as a rough hand circled the base of his cock, squeezing hard. Angor was leaning heavily over him, panting as he swiped a line of drool from his chin with the back of his arm. 

“You bastard!” Draal’s fury was palpable. He fought against the cold chains and the unrelenting hand, teeth bared. Angor only smirked. 

“All in good time.” His fingers trailed absently up Draal’s belly again, waiting for his heaving breath to calm. In truth, he needed a moment himself. The rawness of the display was potent, and he gnashed internally against the urge to drop the games and take.

Not yet. He thought. Soon.

Under him, he could feel the subsiding heaves of that broad chest. Dipping his head low, he spoke in a voice dripping with false calm. “Now I see why the Hunter keeps you around.” Draal growled a warning, not noticing the subtle adjustments of Angor’s body, his hips hitching into the crook of Draal’s powerful legs. 

The heat from the prone body soaked into him, and his swollen cock twitched with interest. “So obedient.” The snarl of protest was choked into a startled whine when the hand grasping him turned soft, a fingertip rolling under the sensitive head. Angor grinned.

Onto the main course. 

He slid his hand under the leathers of his clothes, freeing his cock to the open air. Draal perked up, lifting his head for a better look. Angor pressed their bodies together, cocks slotting against each other, and they groaned in unison. Wrapping a hand around them both, Angor gave a wicked smile. He pumped gently, and Draal made a strangled noise. 

“Good… just like that,” Angor murmured absently. The ripe blue of Draal’s cock stood in sharp contrast with his stony coloring, their slick mixing under his fingers as he rolled his hips languidly. 

“Should I fuck you like this?” He tightened his grip pointedly, and Draal gave a broken keen. “Or should I roll you over and take you properly?” His claws danced lower, caressing his entrance, slick from the drooling of their cocks. “I could leave my scent all over you, inside you. I could make you mine.” His voice dropped into a growl. 

Draal went rigid under his hands, and for the first time a pungent whiff of fear colored his heady scent. A sharp twist of his shoulders made the chains rattle, and Angor pulled his fingers away quickly. Draal’s breath hitched, and Angor leaned away, his good eye snapping to Draal’s face. 

A snarl twisted Draal’s face, teeth bared and eyes hazy. His voice was hoarse as he grit out; 

“I don’t belong to you.” 

Understanding punched Angor like as a fist. Unthinkingly he reached out a hand, unsure of where to touch or what to say. Draal bristled, his body taut, eyes flicking from Angor’s face to his hand to his knife, hanging forgotten at his hip. The scent of fear rolled off him in waves. 

Guilt tingled uncomfortably down Angor’s spine, made all the worse by his own understanding. His hand hovered over Draal’s chest, caught by uncertainty. Finally, he pressed the palm into Draal’s chest, over his pounding heart. 

Draal tensed, but didn’t struggle. Angor fancied he could feel the frenetic jumble that pulsed under the other’s skin. Anger and guilt and bitter terror that clenched on the throat like a fist, but worst of all, the helplessness. To be ground like an ant into the dust by a will stronger than his own. 

He was very familiar indeed. 

The panic wrapped around Draal’s ribs like a suffocating blanket. A hideous black mist drifted vaguely around him, narrowing his vision to pinpricks as he gasped. The chains seemed to thicken around him, bunching and coiling like snakes, impossibly heavy. When he blinked, the wink of white crystals seemed to glance off every surface, like spires of ice, ready to freeze him with the slightest brush. 

Above him, a pinprick of yellow light glowed like a beacon. For a wrenching second, a horned black shape formed around it before dissolving like smoke on the breeze. 

Slowly, a different shape emerged, no less dangerous but somehow less threatening. Draal let his eyes close, focusing hard on the feeling of hard earth beneath him, the comforting pull of the earth as it cradled him, keeping him from hurtling off into empty space. 

Angor leaned over Draal, hoping to be less looming and more comforting. Draal’s heels shuffled on the dusty floor as he tried to right himself. Angor allowed it, letting him fidget and shift before settling stiffly on one side, face pointed firmly away from his own. He could read the humiliation written in Draal’s downcast eyes and the hard line of his jaw. 

For what felt like an eternity, they sat in hushed silence. Angor’s hands rested cautiously under Draal’s knees, eye fixed on the floor beside Draal’s head. Under him, the warrior only breathed, not a flicker of movement save for his rising chest. The spell broke when Angor cleared his throat. “Are you…?” He trailed off helplessly.

Draal didn’t answer for a moment, eyes deliberately averted. “Just let me loose.” 

Angor had to check himself from scrambling to obey. Proud of the steadiness in his hands, he made quick work of the chains. Draal hurriedly readjusted his clothes, pushing himself up on one hand and to his feet. Angor remained on his knees, eyes fixed on the chain in his hands as he recoiled it. 

The silence was unbearable. Opening his mouth, Angor stopped short at the sound of tires rolling into the driveway outside. Glancing out the tiny window, he watched the Trollhunter’s mother step out of her car, shutting the door behind her. 

The noise seemed to bring Draal to his senses. Shaking himself, he turned around, face stony. “Best be gone.” His voice was calculatedly neutral, eyes blank as he turned away again. “I don’t need Barbara seeing you.” 

The dismissal was clear. Angor stood, moving silently to the window, pushing it open. Before he slid out into the night, he chanced a look over his shoulder. Draal stood solemnly, gazing into the depths of the furnace, the orange glow flickering off his pale belly. A frown puckered his brow, hand curled into a fist at his side. 

Angor drew a heavy breath, then slid through the window, into the night.


End file.
